Fallout 3: Lonely Legend
by royalstraight
Summary: I am the "Vault Legend". Here is a tale of love lost and found; of life and death; of my life
1. Chapter 1

I woke with a start; my latest foray into Neverland had been particularly arduous. Running a hand through my hair and shaking the sweat off, I looked up to see my father, James, sticking his head in through the doorway. Concern littered his face: being the Vault physician as well as parent, he was well aware of my nightmares.

"Are you alright, Jake? Your G.O.A.T. is today, but I can talk to your teacher-"

"No, Dad, I'm okay," I interjected over a wheeze, not wanting my weak medical history to keep me in bed. "I… I can make it today."

Pride flickered through the cloud of worry on my father's face, but I knew he was reluctant to let me go to school today. I had just gone through a particularly horrendous bout with my as yet undiagnosed condition, and my health was precarious. My stubbornness and pride probably didn't help: I was often getting into fights defending myself, my father, and Amata. She was the only person that didn't see me as a liability to the Vault.

Grunts and strained groans filled my room as I heaved myself to my feet. Changing my jumpsuit after showering was just as painful as ever, but I'd get through if I had to beat the life into me. My lucky hat, a birthday present from my father's and my friend Stanley, fit snuggly on my head, and I wiped the sweat from my brow. Amata's birthday was today, and I had every intention of putting my best foot forward. Before I left the room, I grabbed her present from under my pillow: it was in an unwrapped box, but it was the best I could do. I really had Jonas to thank, since he was the one who gave me the idea. The gift secure in my pocket, I went out into the living room, towards the hallway door.

"You know, Jake," Dad piped from his desk, "You shouldn't be so nervous about Amata; something tells me you aren't the only one with romantic feelings."

I knew that, despite (or perhaps because of) his position as Vault physician, my father was the best when it came to reading other people. I took his word whole-heartedly, although it did little to ease my nerves; the best had been wrong before.

The grey corridor welcomed me as warmly as a freezer, but my mind was focused on the vibrant girl of my dreams. Amata was the only person that didn't see me as a liability to the Vault; Amata was the only friend I had; Amata was being harassed by the Tunnel Snakes.

Wait, what was that last part?

Butch and his gang had Amata surrounded, refusing her passage to the classroom. Their tactics were evocative of the pre-war gangs and animals I had read about during my more intense stints in the infirmary, picking off individuals as a pack.

"What's going on here?" I said as powerfully as I could.

Butch, Wally, and Paul turned to face me. Paul and Butch were my equals in age, but Wally was older and larger. In truth, they were all larger than I: being sick so often had left me thin and atrophied, although I was still taller than all of them.

"Well, lookey here," Butch gloated, "Little weasel for a fat cow. Back off, punk; this doesn't concern you."

A single glance at Amata insured my response. "Back off, Butch," I commanded, "I mean it."

Butch's laughter was echoed by his cronies, but it didn't shake my nerves. He caught this, however.

"So? What are you going to do about it if I stay?" A simple enough question, but one for which I had no real response. A false one would have to do.

"I'll make you leave, Butch. I'm not afraid of you."

The Tunnel Snakes bared their fangs, to which my response was an amateur fighting stance. I remembered when Butch tried to beat me at my birthday party a few years ago, but I had been able to outsmart him. Here, unfortunately, there was no leverage, only laughter, the thrill of the kill.

Butch threw the first punch, but I was the first to land a hit. Perhaps an explanation is in order: my condition restricted me to a hospital bed for most of my life, but in the few instances when adrenaline hit my system, my senses reached a level of attunement that I had only been exposed to in literature and film. The popular "Matrix" series from the late twentieth century exemplifies best my situation.

My fist landed on Butch's shoulder, stopping his shot dead. Next was a head shot at Paul, colliding with his left temple; Paul went reeling, his head smacking the wall with a sickly sweet crack.

Wally came around on my left and landed a sucker punch just below my eye. I could hear Amata's frightened voice, but the words were indistinguishable from the ringing in my head.

Swinging wildly at Wally, I instead came face to face with Butch, who had now drawn his switchblade.

"Coward," I sneered, "Real tough guys, pulling a knife on a cripple." It wasn't a tone I liked the taste of, but if I could talk myself into a fairer fight, I didn't have a choice.

Butch faltered, allowing me to land a side kick to Wally Mack's ribs. He thudded to the floor.

Now alone, Butch slowed his pace, circling me. I mirrored him, but sweat was beading on my forehead; this fight had to end fast.

"Stop it already," Amata pleaded. I maneuvered my back to her, keeping her under what little protection I could offer. The usefulness of this protection diminished as Wally and Paul resumed their positions on Butch's flanks.

Wally charged me, tackling me to the floor. Paul took position preventing Amata's interference, and Butch twirled his switchblade in his hand. I glared at him, mocking his hollow victory.

He knelt above me, his knee in my chest, Wally on my legs. I had a chance to escape, but no flaw could exist. Butch brought his knife down hard, but it hit only steel plating. My head snapped to the right, my legs slamming Wally's head into Butch's spine. The switchblade was in my possession as I leapt to my feet. Wally was on his stomach, Butch sitting against the wall, Paul frozen with his eyes on my hand. Needless to say, everyone was surprised when I tossed the knife away. I resumed my stance, and the Tunnel Snakes were again poised to strike. The look I shot Butch, however, deterred their advance.

"Come on, Tunnel Snakes," he ordered, "let's go."

They turned tail, Butch scooping up his knife, and strutted into the classroom as if they had won a war.

Amata rushed to my side as I leaned against the wall for support. "Thanks. That was really brave."

"Anytime; are you okay?"

She nodded, smiling her angel's smile at me. Fatigued as I was, I felt like I would move mountains for that smile.

"What's this?" Amata knelt to pick a box off the floor… a box that looked exactly like the box her birthday present was in. She opened it as I confirmed that my pocket was empty. It was make or break time. Her eyes flitted across the page, drinking in my carefully chosen words. She stood facing me, and I searched her face for a response. I didn't need to.

She planted a kiss on my lips with a hushed "thank you". I swear to you, my brain ceased all function save the processing of that kiss.

Her face shifted to that of concern. "Are you alright? I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I grinned stupidly, "I feel great. I just wish I was more of a participant."

She smiled softly. "Let's try it."

We kissed together, and I could feel her breath against my cheek, our lips together, our mouths opening to each other. I withdrew a second before her, examining her face; an angel on earth, surely.

"You're a wonderful kisser," Amata complimented breathlessly, prompting me to blush to an even greater degree than present. Then she saw the necklace I hid in the lid of the box, and threw her arms around me. I knew, even with everything wrong with me, I was the luckiest man in the Vault- scratch that-the world.

We entered the classroom, my heels bouncing on a cloud of ecstasy: Amata loved the song I had written for her, and had agreed to let me play it for her on my guitar. Admittedly, it was old, but it was Dad's and Jonas's gift to me on my tenth birthday, and it was smooth and sturdy.

I took a seat across from my new (read: first) girlfriend, awaiting my G.O.A.T. Mr. Brotch glanced knowingly at us, but mentioned nothing.

He, like me, found the G.O.A.T. unreliable, but administered the test nonetheless. Five minutes later, I received my results. I believe in signs and fate and destiny and all that stuff, and I couldn't help but I couldn't help but chuckle when Mr. Brotch told me I would be a marriage counselor. I knew that, although other people might need me, there was one couple that would not.


	2. Chapter 2

It was three years after Amata and I had entered a relationship. For the first time, I was in high spirits; we were a perfect couple. That is not to say we didn't argue, as that is a part of every relationship, but we always forgave each other, always remembered our love.

Of course, with her father being the ever-tyrannical Overseer, there was a deal of strain on us. In our hearts, we were closer than heaven and earth, but we were forced to live apart. We would spend the night in one another's quarters, but nothing ever transpired. I am a romantic, yes, but being a tad traditional comes with the package.

I was enjoying one of my newest strains of dreams, one free of pain and hurt, when a rampant quake tore through me. Snapping to consciousness, my first sight was Amata's terrified expression, the first sound being the alarms. "What's the matter?"

"You have to leave, Jake; please, hurry!" Her voice hinted that hysterics were not far off.

I nodded along, sitting up, rubbing a hand over my eyes. "Sure. I'll go see if I can crash with Stanley or-"

A brutal slap interrupted me, shocking me; why in hell's circles would Amata slap me?

"The Vault!" she cried "You have to leave the Vault!"

Pure confusion flushed my system: nobody left the Vault. How was the impossible the only option?

"Your dad's gone; my father's lost it, and his men are after you. Jonas is already dead, and I think your next."

So much was wrong with that statement; my capacity to dissect it flew like a caged bird.

"What are you talking about, 'Jonas is dead'? I just talked to him." Nothing could happen to Jonas, my brother in spirit.

Amata shot a glance at the doorway. "The guards thought Jonas helped your dad escape, so they pulled him into my father's office and…oh God, you have to go!"

The full weight of the situation was beginning to dawn on me, and the pieces fell into the gruesome landscape that had been erected. My world was crumbling, and I had to take flight from my home. No, not my home: I had never felt alive here, never felt at ease, and never felt wanted other than my time with Dad and Amata. Now, Dad had fled and Amata wanted me to follow him. Well, good times come and good times go; it's too bad the good times couldn't last a little longer.

I took a seat on my desk, and zipped my jumpsuit closed. I had taken to sleeping with my clothes wrapped halfway around my waist, and my belief in its convenience was paying dividends. "So what do I do?"

My love lowered her head and knitted her brow, signs that she was deep in concentration, but apprehensive about sharing her thoughts. "The main corridor is blocked, but there's a tunnel to the entrance in my father's office. I don't have the code, but I have the key to our quarters." She handed me a key card, which I accepted and slipped into my pocket. "There's one more thing." She handed me a pistol and 3 magazines of ammunition. I stared in horror at the contraption.

Amata placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to reassure me, trying to help me conquer my abhorrence of guns. "Please, it's only as a last resort, but I want you to have it."

My father dedicated his life to healing, my life had been spent as the longest-lasting project within that dedication, and I was being given the means to undo the foundation of that work. It was true, I would need to defend myself, and it was true, I wasn't physically strong enough to win a fistfight, but it was too great a price. Or was it? Wouldn't the greater price be to allow my dad to wander the outside world, alone, when he might need my help? If it would cost me my comfort and fear to save my father, when he had paid so much for my life, then so be it.

I resolutely grasped the grip of the pistol, felt its weight in my hand, and learned the texture and color of it. Amata and I locked eyes, and I murmured, "As a last resort." I secured the holster to my belt.

Amata's eyes watered, which nearly broke my fresh coat of resolve, and we clasped onto each other. Of all the contact within the last few minutes of conversation, this silent sobbing hit me the hardest and struck the deepest chord within me. We broke apart after I don't know how long, and she backpedaled away from me, with a solemn "I'll stall them" before she tore away at a run.

Despite my inability to mentally process this event, my body followed its own orders. I scurried about the room, throwing my possessions, my medicines, my entire world into my satchel before I left, with the pistol in its holster.

The blaring klaxons and flashing lights nearly threw me to the floor by sheer disorientation. I stumbled against the wall, the strap of my bag digging into my shoulder. Steadied by the wall, I was stupefied when one of the Vault's security guards came running around the corner.

"Freeze!" he commanded, before a trio of radroaches swarmed over him. Rather than help him, I observed a door to my left, and slipped away. The bathroom was immaculate, but I spent no time admiring the Overseer's tyranny. When I came out, Butch's appearance prompted me to throw my hands into a fighting stance.

"You gotta help me!" Butch cried, alarm raising the pitch of his voice, "My mom's being attacked by the radroaches!"

For whatever Supreme Deity holds power, irony must have been a favorite; it was not well known that Butch was terrified by the mutated insects, but that datum was one of my favorites. If there had been a speck of mirth left within me at the time, I would have mocked Butch or instructed him to handle his own problem.

"Of course," I rushed passed him to his quarters, and my consciousness slipped into the Neverland I've described before. Three radroaches had Ellen DeLoria (drunk as ever) backed into a corner. I grabbed a lamp and hurled it at one, and brought my foot down on a second. The third, the little vermin, latched its mandibles into my leg. I gritted my teeth in agony, but managed to remain standing long enough for Butch to rip it off clumsily. He fearfully began pounding the creature with the lamp I had used, and refused to stop until it was a pulpy mess. I examined my wound, and wasn't at all shocked to see a shard of carapace embedded into the flesh.

"Oh, man!" Butch cried, horrified at the sight, "you need to get that checked out!" I appreciated his concern, but if Amata was right, time was of a dire specialty. I attempted to leave the room, but my application of pressure to my leg sent a bolt of fire up my shin and thigh.

"Let me help." Butch helped position me against the wall, flicked out his oh-so-hated pocket knife, and wedged out the souvenir. The lack of warning was probably necessary, but the pain that shot through my entire leg was near-unbearable. Desperate for a salve, I grabbed a stimpak from my satchel and stabbed it into my leg. A waste for sure, but the anesthetic would keep me going.

"…gonna be alright, man; you're the best," Butch was saying, tears welling in his eyes. "Anything you want, it's yours."

I used the desk as leverage to pull myself to my feet, Butch lending me a hand. "It's too bad I can't call you on your offer. In all likelihood, this is the last time we'll be breathing the same air."

"You're followin' your pop, ain't ya?" How had this information gotten around to everyone except me?

I answered with a distracted nod. He pulled the Tunnel Snakes jacket off his back: "I want you to have this…as an apology for all the things I've done." I accepted with a grin and a clap on Butch's shoulder before I limped away, leaving him to tend to his mother. The jacket stuffed my satchel, but I paid it no further mind.

Further down the hallway, there was a relative stillness. I crept past the diner as a horrible odor wafted to me. My investigation revealed the horrible sight of Grandma Taylor laying face-down among several radroaches. Overcome, I fell against the wall, accidentally triggering the door. Too hurt to notice the roaches chattering, I rushed down the hall at as great a pace as my leg would allow. It was too much pain and death in this place.

I came to a stairway, and worry took root in my heart at the sounds of some deep roaring and a man's cries. Proceeding, my eyes were greeted by my friend Officer Gomez fighting off a swarm of radroaches. Fearing for his safety, I ruhed forward, only to be awed when a wave of fire crisped the arthropods. Stanley's presence made clear the situation: Andy was fitted with a flamethrower.

"Jake!" Officer Gomez was obviously shocked by appearance, his face hooded in shadows. "The Overseer's ordered that I apprehend you on sight, but what's going on isn't your fault. I think you should follow James."

"Thanks. I always liked you, for what it's worth."

Stanley glanced up from Andy's repair, and I could only tilt the hat he gave me at him before I left. The doorway ahead of me would lead me to the Atrium, and one step closer to freedom.


End file.
